


The Angel and the Wise Man

by Kleenexwoman



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Folklore, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a wise man who can see Hashem's word written on the foreheads of people, and Erik is an angel cut off from Hashem who seeks him out. </p><p>10/2013: ABANDONED WIP. I am attempting to turn this into an original story. Thanks to those who read and enjoyed it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt:
> 
> "Sorry if someone's already mentioned this, but I really want to see an AU fic with Charles as a priest and Erik as a fallen angel. Definitely Erik/Charles, please."

There was a _shtetl_ in England (of all places), and a holy man named Charles lived there with his sister Oreb. Oreb was not his sister by blood; she was _mishpocheh_ , family of the heart. She had come to his family's door when he was young, begging for food, and he had seen the word "achot" written on her forehead in Hebrew words that burned like light and fire. He had taken her hand and told his parents, "This is my sister," and they could not argue with him.

After that, Charles had seen words written on everyone's forehead, and the words always held some truth, some secret. He read about the Golem of Prague and the way the word "emet" had been written on its forehead. The Golem had been clay, given life by a rabbi, but what were humans made of but clay from the hand of Hashem?

Charles set out to learn as much Hebrew as he could, but there was only so much he could learn about the Torah and the Talmud from the old rabbi at the local temple. Oreb saved her coins to send Charles to the High Council of the Kohanim in Jerusalem, saying that such a wise and learned man as her brother should not have to stay in the little _shtetl_ they lived in, and that he could even be the Kohen Gadol someday.

Although Charles spent most of his time studying, he did his part by accepting gifts of food or clothes for settling quarrels for people--he could look into the hearts of the people who came to him and see what they really wanted, and find solutions that would satisfy them all. Seeing words of sadness or anger on the heads of the people he spoke to caused him pain, and it was a joy to see the words wiped from their heads and replaced with satisfaction.

Once, Oreb said to Charles that she thought he was one of the _tzadikim nistarim_ , one of the thirty-six righteous men who came in every generation. Charles laughed, and they did not speak of it again. It is a strange thing that the wicked man thinks he is very righteous, the indifferent man thinks he is just righteous enough, and the truly righteous man thinks he is constantly disappointing Hashem by not doing enough.

*

It was winter when the angel came to them.

An old woman had been dying, and Charles had been there to keep her company. He had watched her go from loneliness to fear to a sort of calm, talking her through her memories. When her eyes had closed for the last time, the words in light and fire on her forehead had disappeared, fire quenched. It had unsettled him, and he thought about her as he walked home through the snow.

The path from the village to the small house that he and Oreb kept on the edge of town ran by the millpond. As Charles passed it, he heard splashing and cries for help, and without thinking of the cold he jumped into the half-frozen pond to save the drowning man. He wrapped his arms around the man and dragged him to the edge of the pond.

"Thank you," the man said, but Charles's teeth were chattering and he felt frozen to the bone. He felt a great light envelop him, and he thought, _Hashem is calling me to His side,_ and then he knew nothing.

He awoke in front of the fire, wrapped in a pile of blankets. Oreb's worried face and red hair was the first thing he saw. She rubbed her brother's hands. "You were so cold, I thought you would die," she said. "So cold that just touching you made me turn blue!"

"The man," Charles said. "There was a man in the millpond--he cried for help--"

Oreb shook her head. "You are so good you will kill yourself someday," she said. "Yes, he brought you here. I don't know how he knew which house was ours. Perhaps Hashem guided his footsteps." She patted his hand and stood up. "I'll bring you some soup."

Charles saw the man he had rescued, and his breath stopped. The man was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of tea, with a blanket wrapped around him. But what amazed Charles was not the man's strong shoulders or the set of his jaw, but the wings that sprouted from him, made of light and fire. There was six of them; two that framed his face, two that extended from his back, and two that wrapped around his legs.

Oreb placed a bowl of soup by Charles. "He barely speaks," she said in a low whisper. "Just 'sugar, please' and 'thank you' and that's it. He won't even tell me his name."

Charles gripped her arm. "He is an angel of Hashem," he said. "Can't you see the wings?"

Oreb looked over her shoulder. "Maybe the cold made you see things," she said. "I'll get you some schnapps, too--"

Charles lifted his hand and traced the word "achot" on her forehead, where it had stayed illuminated ever since he had met her. "Trust me, please, my sister," he said. "He is an angel of Hashem and we must be kind to him. Offer him my bed tonight."

Oreb was going to joke that perhaps the stranger, who was handsome, could share her bed instead. But she saw how serious Charles's eyes were, and it scared her.

Charles was sick for two days, and drifted in and out of strange dreams. Once he dreamed of a woman who came to him shining like diamonds in the sun, and he knew that she was Shekhinah. She whispered words into his ear, and when he awoke he could not recall them. Once he dreamed of a man who held whirling winds of destruction in his hand and who swept entire cities clean, and he knew that he was looking at Hashem's wrath.

Sometimes he would awake and feel hands on his own hands or on his cheek that were not Oreb's, that were larger and stronger than Oreb's and somehow smoother.

When he awoke to life at last, his illness gone, the man was sitting next to him. He nodded at Oreb, who was slumped over the table, sleeping. "Your wife is a very kind woman," he said.

"She is not my wife," Charles said, and struggled to sit up.

The man helped him up, clasping his arms, and soon Charles was on his feet. He let the man steady him, enjoying the feel of the strong, smooth hands on his arms and the strong, warm body against his.

Charles had never looked for a wife. He might have if he hadn't had Oreb to take care of him, but he had never felt the need to go to the _shadchan_ , and had no parents anymore to do it for him. Oreb tolerated his flirtations with the _goyische_ women who passed through sometimes, and the women in the _shtetl_ liked him very much, but it was understood by nearly everyone that a learned and pious man like Charles had no time to fulfill the most important obligation that a husband would have towards his wife.

"She is my sister," Charles said, "and that is all." His eyes searched for the words that he knew would be written in fire on the stranger's forehead, the words that would tell him what this man would be to him, but there were none. When he stepped back, he could once again see the man's wings, six of them, burning like light and fire but giving no heat.

Charles went to place a blanket over Oreb's shoulders. For once in his life, he did not know what to say to the man. What do you say to an angel of Hashem who has come to you?

"Thank you for saving me," the angel of Hashem said to him. "Most people would not have jumped into a frozen pond to save a stranger. It was quite a _mitzvah_."

"We are commanded to preserve the lives of others," Charles said. "Whosoever is able to save one life also saves the whole universe."

"But not at the expense of our own," the angel said, and wrapped his arms around himself as though he were cold.

Charles shrugged. "I did not know that I would be in danger of dying," he said, "but I knew that you were going to drown if I did not help you. I could not have acted otherwise."

"They do say that you are a learned man," said the angel. "That you not only speak and understand the word of Hashem, but that you see it before your eyes. Did you see the word of Hashem commanding you to save me? Did you hear His voice?" There was something bitter in his voice.

Charles swallowed. "The only voice I heard was yours," he said, "crying for help. I do not act by the word of Hashem only because I am commanded to. I do it because I know it is right."

"Interesting," the angel said, "that you make that distinction." He moved closer to Charles, backing him up against the rough wooden table. "And what if you believed the word of Hashem to be wrong?"

"Ah, well," Charles said, and struggled to find his tongue. "Hashem gave us the law as our own to interpret, and the law must serve us--it was made to serve us, not the other way around--people don't always understand that--" The angel pressed his body into Charles's body, and his eyes stared into Charles's eyes, and Charles felt as though the great burning wings were wrapping around him. "What does Hashem want from me?" he cried.

"You mean you don't know?" the angel asked, and the question was a real question, full of puzzlement and wonder. "I thought you of all people would know what Hashem wanted. I don't know any longer."

"But you're..." Charles raised his hand and stroked the outline of the angel's wings. He wondered if he was truly going mad.

The angel took Charles's hand in his and pressed it down onto the table. "Don't mock me," he said roughly. "They are gone--I walk the earth as a man."

They sat before the fire, and the angel, who called himself Erik ("Arechiel, but I no longer dare to use that name"), told Charles his story.

"I am an angel of justice," he said. "I have no issue with the evildoer who never sees his fate, or the ones who stand and take it--I hunt those who run. Do you remember the nation that threatened the Jews a few decades ago?"

Charles nodded. A king somewhere in Western Europe had put forth the decree that all strangers sojourning in the land were to be killed. Because the decree included all strangers sojourning in the land and did not single out the Jews, Hashem had not seemed to take notice at first, but the Kohanim in Jerusalem had gotten word ot the massacre and had scoured the land looking for ten truly righteous men to form a _minyan_ and pray for the delivery of the Jews in that land. No sooner had the _minyan_ been formed and said the _Shema_ , than the soldiers of that land had been set upon by angels.

"Some of the men who gave the orders escaped," Erik said, "and I was set to hunt them down and show them justice. The very last one had escaped into the ocean and was hiding on his own vessel, and I appeared to him on the deck and read out his crimes, and as he cowered before me I sank my fiery sword into his brain. He was dead and stricken from the book of Life."

Charles shivered, not liking to think of the scene.

"I had presumed on Hashem's orders," Erik continued. "I had been told to show justice, and I had shown the kind of justice I knew how to deal. But Hashem had not desired that kind of justice."

"What kind of justice did Hashem desire?" Charles asked, fascinated despite himself. He wondered how many wicked men the angel had ever killed.

Erik shrugged. "I should have asked," he said, "but I thought I knew Hashem's will. I never found out."

Although the fire was hot and they were both wrapped in blankets, Erik was still shivering. Charles put his arm around the angel. drawing him closer to his body, and Erik relaxed a little. "It helps to feel warm," he said. "The world is very cold. When we are in the world, we still see and feel Hashem's presence all around us. Everything is warm, and everything is illuminated, and we can see perfectly."

"I would love to feel that," Charles said softly. "Even I can only guess at Hashem's presence in the world sometimes."

"It's maddening," Erik continued, "to know that the presence is _there_ , and not to feel it. As soon as the man died on the deck before me, it was as though I was plunged into an icy lake--into absolute cold and absolute darkness." He sat silent for a while, staring at the fire. "Hashem withdrew from me," he finally said, "and I don't even know why, or what I was meant to do instead. He knows what I do--He _created_ me--so why did He send me if He didn't mean for me to do what He created me for?"

Charles laid his head on the angel's shoulder. "I wish I had answers for you," he said. "We can never really know Hashem's will--we can only try our best to understand what is already written."

Erik turned his head so that his nose just brushed Charles's hair. When he spoke, Charles could feel the angel's warm breath on him. "Oreb says you can see Hashem's word," he said. "She says you see it in fiery letters, written on foreheads. Is it true?"

Charles sighed. "Oreb is not cautious with secrets," he said. "I don't know if what I see is Hashem's word, or whether it is what is written in the hearts of the people I see, or if it is just what Hashem wants me to see for His purposes. But yes, my friend, I do see these words, and they are never wrong."

Erik bent his head so that Charles's forehead was touching his. "And on mine? What did you see?"

Charles felt warmer than he had ever felt, as though Hashem's light was radiating from inside him, so suffused with light that he could barely breathe. The angel's wings made of light had wrapped themselves around them, and it comforted Charles--although Erik swore he no longer had them, there was at least a remnant of his angelic nature, a reminder or perhaps a promise from Hashem that Erik was still something other than just a man. It was a thrill to have an angel--even a fallen one--sitting in his house, in front of his fire, conversing with him about holy topics, wrapped in his arms, and an angel's lips pressed to his...

But Erik felt so very human, his mouth wet and warm just like a human's and his breath warm and coming fast just like a human's. He broke the kiss, and Charles leaned towards him, wanting and seeking his warmth.

"I can't," Erik said, his voice rough, "it's an evil deed."

Charles sat back and gazed at Erik. He reached out to Erik's face, and Erik flinched. "Don't worry," Charles said. "Just...let me."

Erik closed his eyes, and Charles traced with his finger the outlines of each letter of the Hebrew alphabet in turn on his forehead, gently brushing his fingertip along Erik's skin. When he had gotten to _tav_ , he ran his fingers down Erik's cheek, down his jaw, and then took his hand away.

"Take off your shirt," Charles said.

Erik's eyes snapped open and were full of fire. "A holy man like you _must_ know--"

Charles sighed. "I know what passage you mean, and I don't mean that. Look--Hashem gave us brains so that we could use them, that's what I always tell people. Humans need to think to understand Hashem's word. But as an angel, you have a different relationship with Hashem, don't you?" He placed his own hand on his chest. "Hashem does not leave you a text to puzzle over, but speaks directly to your heart. So maybe Hashem's word is written on your heart instead."

Erik gave Charles a suspicious look, but began to unbutton his shirt. Charles watched closely as the angel's body was revealed. Erik's body was muscular, well-formed and smooth, a striking contrast to the men who worked in the fields and had bodies like twisted ironwood, or to Charles's own soft, scholarly body.

The angel unbuttoned his shirt down to his heart. Charles sat cross-legged and looked at him, placing two fingers to his forehead in the pose he always assumed during a particularly thorny problem. As he watched, words began to appear over Erik's heart--not just one word, but the sentence that Shekhinah had spoken to Charles during his dream. They burned brightly, and then disappeared.

Charles did not realize that he had been holding his breath until he inhaled, long and shaky.

"What?" Erik asked eagerly. "What did you see?"

Charles shook his head. He hated lying, but he was certain that Erik would not accept the words that Hashem had written on him. It was easy to see that the angel believed that he only had one purpose, and that not fulfilling that purpose meant nothing but failure to him. Charles decided then and there that he would show the angel otherwise.

"Nothing, my friend," Charles said.

Erik's face fell. "Then I am nothing," he said. "Hashem has no word for me, no destiny."

Charles put his hands on Erik's shoulders and looked into his eyes. "No," he said, "you are not nothing. If Hashem had meant for you to be nothing, you would not be here."

Erik looked down, as if he could not bear to meet Charles's eyes. "I tried to drown myself," Erik whispered. "I had been walking for so long, and I was so tired, and I thought that maybe if I died like humans do I would never join that stream of fire that I was born in, not again, but I could at least feel Hashem's presence." He stood up, pushing Charles away from him. "Do me a favor--don't save me this time." He turned, shrugging his shirt over his shoulders and beginning to button it.

"Hear, O Angel," Charles cried. Erik stood still, caught between the command and the desire for death. Charles pulled the blanket more closely around his shoulders and spoke more softly, with all the compassion he had. "Hashem has not abandoned you if He has not abandoned me. You chose to make up your own mind about what was right when you killed that man--can you not do it again, without Hashem's command to guide you? Are you so afraid that you will fall further?"

Erik turned to look at Charles. "I don't know what to do," he said helplessly. "How can I walk the Earth like this?"

Charles extended his hand to the angel. "See what it's like to be human," he said. "Stay with me. We'll find a destiny for you."


	2. Chapter 2

The winters in that place were long and cold, and the Jews of the village were used to shutting themselves in their houses after the light of the Chanukah celebration had faded from their windows. To be shut up in a house with a sulky and frightened angel is not an easy task. When he was in a bad mood, it seemed as though the very air grew dark and the clouds settled around the house. Charles's words choked themselves in his throat, and Oreb found excuses to wrap all of her shawls around herself and take long walks outside.

Still, Oreb took to Erik, for he asked very little from her. His clothes did not tear, he never got sore throats from talking in the dry air, and he consumed very little except for an occasional glass of tea in the evenings. At night, he would lie down by the fireplace, and neither Charles nor Oreb knew if he slept or dreamed.

Erik was quiet one day, solemn and cold as the snow outside. He sat at the window and stared at the clouds, at the light that moved across the snow in the day, and did not speak. At last Charles brought out his chessboard.

"I don't play," Erik said.

"Then I'll show you," Charles said, and he began to move the pieces across the board.

Erik put a hand on his. "I know how it's played," he said. "I've seen princes and pharoahs play it. Sometimes with armies."

Charles looked down at the chessboard, thinking of the horse, the bishop, the queen, of ancient soldiers with lances and swords. "Humor me, if you will." He moved a knight. "I used to play with my father," he said, "but he's gone."

Erik gazed at the board for a long time, and Charles knew somehow that he was not thinking about his move. "For your father, then," he said, and moved a pawn. The game took the afternoon, and Erik won easily, tipping over Charles's queen without a word.

The next day, Charles set up the board again with a small smile. "Another relative who liked to play with me," he said, casually making the first move, "was my uncle Moishe..." Erik sighed and pulled up a chair.

The winter passed slowly after that, but it was a little less dark, a little less cold. Erik was still silent, even when Oreb and Charles could take the silence no longer and chattered to each other, but his silence no longer seemed gloomy and oppressive. It seemed as though he was waiting for something.

*

The earth had not yet thawed when the miller's wife came to them. She was wearing a fine dress and _sheitel_ , but she had no shawl or coat, and her eyes were red.

Charles made her sit by the fire while Oreb bustled to bring her tea and the last slice of kugel. Erik leaned against the wall and watched with interest, and the woman looked up, smiled at him, and then seemed to grow nervous and look away. Charles knelt beside her. "Don't mind him, Sharon," he said. "He won't bite."

Sharon dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her skirt. "I don't know what to do," she wailed, and the story came out.

Her husband had never been entirely loving, but he had provided for her. A few years into their marriage, however, he had begun to ignore her, and then to beat her whenever he was in a bad mood. Afraid to leave, but anxious for love, she had begun to see a man from the next village over (whom she refused to name). She had found bliss in his arms, but some part of her still loved her husband, and the guilt gnawed at her. Charles could see the Hebrew word for "fear" blazing on her forehead.

"I can't keep deceiving him like this," she sobbed while Oreb patted her on the back, "but I can't give up my lover. He's the only thing that makes my days worthwhile." She burst into tears again, and Oreb rushed to comfort her.

Charles let Oreb coo to the distraught woman while he withdrew to speak with Erik. "Truth be told," he said to Erik quietly, "I never know how much I can help in cases like this. Property disputes, questions on the Torah and _halacha_ , these I know. I've memorized scripture and commentary. But I have no experience in matters of the heart."

Erik shrugged. "She broke the marriage contract," he said, "she is at fault. She should tell him so he can write her a _get_."

Charles shook his head. "A man like that, who beats his wife? If she tells him, he'd beat her, he might even kill her. It's a much bigger sin than taking a lover."

"But she'll continue to sin," Erik said, "and she'll get with child, and it will be a _mamzer_ , and she'll bring her own _down on her child's head. Better that they were all dead."_

"No!" Charles said, shocked. "Even life as an outcast is better than death." He put a hand on Erik's shoulder. "There is hope for the outcast, but none for the dead."

"There is hope in Hashem's arms for the dead," Erik countered. "If she cleanses herself and confesses herself to her husband, and dies for it, Hashem will welcome her. No more suffering. Problem solved."

"This is morbid," Charles muttered, and went to Sharon. Oreb's ministrations had pacified her, and she was now sipping her glass of tea, taking deep breaths.

"Your husband broke the marriage contract when he began to beat you," he said, "for it's a husband's duty to make sure his wife is happy and satisfied. The only problem is recognizing it, making it legal."

Sharon nodded. "I don't know if he'd get a _get_ ," he said. "I'd welcome one."

Charles frowned. "Pardon my indelicacy," he said, "but are you...ah..." Unable to speak for embarrassment, he patted his belly.

Sharon blinked at him. "Have I eaten?" she asked.

Oreb leaned down and whispered to her. Her eyes opened in comprehension. "Oh," she said, "no, no, I'm not."

"Then that's not a way to go about it," Charles said. He sat cross-legged on the floor and put his first two fingers to his head, as he did when he was thinking. "But you must stop seeing your lover before you do bring a _mamzer_ into the world, until you can be married to him."

"But that could be forever!" she cried.

Charles shook his head. "You must," he said. "I'll talk to the Rabbi and see if he'll talk to your husband, and if that doesn't work, we'll all make sure everyone knows he's to have no peace until he gives you a _get_."

"Kurt's a very stubborn man," Sharon said. "He won't care what others think. He won't care if he starves, if I starve. Oh, I'm trapped!"

Erik spoke from the corner. "This is ridiculous," he said. He went to the fire and pulled the poker out of it. It glowed red in his hand like a flaming sword. "Where do you live?" he asked her.

Charles went to Erik as quickly as he could. "It's far worse to make her a widow," he said. "Don't let that sin be on you."

Erik shrugged. "Hashem has forsaken me. How much farther could I fall?"

"Listen to me," Charles said, and he put both of his hands on Erik's shoulders. "Listen to me carefully, my friend, _there is always hope._ This is the same thing Hashem left you for--justice without thought, without mercy. Don't make the same mistake."

Erik lowered the poker. "I won't kill him, then," he said. "But I'm bringing this."

"A _get_ isn't legal when a man's life is threatened," Charles said. "He'll sign it now, but he'll sue later."

Erik tossed the poker up and down in his hand. "This isn't much more of a threat than a whole village of gossipers _dreying_ a man until he has no peace," he said, "it's just concentrated into a few minutes."

Sharon agreed to leave with Erik, and Charles sank down in front of the fire again and put his head in his hands. "Oh," Oreb said, "don't feel bad for the man. Kurt has it coming."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Charles said. When Erik had pulled the poker out of the fireplace, he knew he'd seen the angel's wings flare and fill the entire house with light.

*

Erik returned with Sharon soon enough. Her eyes were red and she was shaking, but she was holding the _get_. "We'll get the Rabbi to sign it in the morning," she said, "thank Hashem that's over with," and then she collapsed onto the floor and burst into tears. "Oh, my poor husband!" she cried, and she beat her fists on the floor. "Who will look after him?"

"Oh for heaven's sake," Oreb said, and she poured Sharon a glass of schnapps and sat with her.

Charles had had enough excitement for the evening, and he went into his bedroom. Erik followed him. "What a stupid woman," he said. "She's free of the man who beats her, and yet she's crying for him."

"She's not stupid," Charles said, and he unbuttoned his shirt. "She loved him once, and he loved her. I was there at the wedding, and they made a handsome couple. There's a part of her that still loves him, and there's a part of him that may love her yet."

"But why?" Erik asked, and his face seemed grave indeed. "He beats her. I was there, and he spat on the floor at her feet and told her to get out if she wanted."

Charles sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes. "We are made to love," he said. "Hashem gave us love before He gave us anything else. It is the one thing no sage can explain, why love endures through hate, through fear, through disgust...and why it sometimes flees when none of these are present." Too tired to do much more, he let himself fall backwards onto the bed, and looked up at Erik. The angel's intangible wings were folded tightly around himself now. "Hashem gave us love because we cannot always feel His presence, His love. We love each other instead, and can feel that."

Erik sat on the bed next to him. "And what does it feel like?" he asked.

Charles closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the angel, basked in it. "It's painful, sometimes. Imperfect. But it's all the better for that--to know that you're imperfect, made of nothing but clay, but that you can feel this beauty anyway. That someone else feels it for you, imperfect as you are."

He felt the touch of a strong, warm hand on his face. He instinctively turned his face towards the source of the warmth, towards Erik, but when he opened his eyes the room seemed dark. Erik had gone to sleep in front of the fire again.

Charles curled up in his bed, which seemed so big and so cold now, like the world must seem to Erik, and he wondered how he could possibly convince Erik that his imperfect clay body could warm the angel just as well as the heat of the fire, as the heat of Hashem's love.


End file.
